a season of becoming
by splendidlyimperfect
Summary: Natsu and Gray aren't quite right, and it takes time and each other to become their real selves.
1. 1 serendipity

_TW for suicidal thoughts_

* * *

**serendipity (n.)  
finding something good without looking for it**

The first time you meet him, you're at the lake, and he's not himself yet.

It's August, unbearably hot and sticky, and you're floating on your back in the murky water, staring up at the sky that's blue and blue and blue, reaching out in every direction as far as you can see. Your skin is already so brown that you don't normally tan, but even you've gotten darker under the burning heat of the summer sun.

You tip your head back and let the water take away everything until all you can hear is your own heartbeat, slow and sleepy as you take deep, even breaths. It would be easy to sink below the surface and never come back – nobody's watching, it would look like an accident.

_Gray's gone,_ your mom would say, and her eyes would be wet, but she'd blame the water instead of herself.

_Gray's gone,_ your dad would say, but he wouldn't feel shame and disgrace when he walked through the town.

_Gray's gone,_ your sister would whisper, and she would scream and cry and ache with grief. She would fear the water; never swim again, never spend her summer days with her toes dipped in the lake and the sun burning the soles of her feet.

You can't do that to her, so when you do sink under the water, it's only for a few seconds. Your chest aches when you stare up at the bright sun through the ripples of the lake, but you force yourself to surface.

"You'd better not drown," a pretty voice says. "I don't want to have to drag you back to the beach."

You shake the water from your hair and kick your feet – it's too deep here, can't reach the bottom, and it's like jumping from a high place. A girl is watching you, with freckled cheeks, tanned skin, and wild pink hair. She's lying on her stomach in one of those floating things that Loke brought to the lake, legs kicked up and a bottle of something in her hand.

"I can swim," you mutter, and your cheeks burn even without the heat of the sun.

"I know," she says, taking a sip of her drink. A droplet clings to her lip and she stares you down as her tongue darts out and wipes it away. "I've been watching."

You're not sure what to say to that, because people don't normally notice you, so you just keep treading water and try not to think about dying.

"What's your name?" you ask eventually, looking back to the beach. It's just a blur of bright colors because you left your glasses behind.

The girl doesn't answer right away. Instead she dips her fingers into the water, and it ripples beneath her touch, tiny rings spreading out until they brush against your chest. For some reason, it feels like she's touched you. She looks up at you, green eyes bright and mischievous.

"Which one?" she asks. Gray frowns and she flicks droplets of water at him. "My paper name, or the one inside?"

"Which do you like better?" you ask, and the smile that lights up her face is brighter than the summer sun that's burned up crops and blistered skin.

"Natsu," she says, and it feels like truth.


	2. 2 queer

**queer (adj.)  
differing in some way from what is usual or normal**

After the day at the lake, you don't see Natsu again, and summer fades quicker than you'd like. The days drag on for you no matter what season it is, but at least in the summer you can climb trees and swim and hide from everything.

It's your third day back at school when you realize that Natsu is in your history class. When you see her, some of the tiny broken pieces inside you feel like they fall into a semblance of wholeness. It's a strange sensation, because your body hasn't been yours – inside or out – for a long time.

You find Natsu one day after school, sitting up on the bleachers by the football field. Her legs are kicked up and she's blowing bubbles – iridescent ones that float around her head, then lazily drift away against the backdrop of the crisp fall sky.

"You didn't drown," she teases, raising an eyebrow as you set your backpack down. She's wearing a black skirt dotted with stars over a pair of striped leggings, and her hair's shorter than the last time you saw her, pulled back with a clip that looks like a sunflower. She's mismatched and gorgeous, but somehow not quite right.

"What're you doing?" you ask, sitting down across from her. She grins, handing you the container of bubbles but keeping the wand for herself. The next time she blows into it, the bubbles drift toward you, and some of them pop in your hair while the rest float off into the autumn afternoon.

Natsu is a mystery that you're not sure you'll ever be able to solve. Part of you thinks that getting to know her isn't worth it, but you haven't looked forward to anything in years, so you start joining her every day on the bleachers after school. You never do the same thing twice – sometimes you ready poetry, other days you get tipsy on beer that she steals from her uncle. One time she makes you an origami crane out of bubblegum wrappers that you keep in your room, next to your bed.

A few days before Halloween, you're sitting in the bleachers smoking a joint when Natsu tells you she thinks she's a boy.

"I know I don't look like one," she – he – says, kicking his combat boots against the bleacher seats and picking at a loose thread in his torn jeans. "A boy, I mean."

"What do boys look like?" you ask, and it's supposed to be flippant but the mild haze of your high fills the words with gravitas that you weren't intending.

Natsu shrugs, studying the sleeves of the leather jacket he's wearing. There are buttons up the sleeves that say things like _put 'fuck' in the dictionary, _and _nuke a gay whale for Jesus, _and _this is what a feminist looks like. _

"Like you," Natsu says after a while, and you suddenly your skin is tight and your body's all wrong and you can't breathe.

_I'm not a boy, _you think as you pass the joint to him with shaking hands. His nails are chewed and there's still flecks of blue on his thumb from last weekend, when you watched him spray paint the words _live with intention _under the bridge by the river.

"What's wrong?" he asks, kicking your tennis shoe with his boot.

"Nothing," you say, shaking your head and leaning back against your jacket that's balled up behind you. It's overcast, and the sunlight crumples through the crowds like wet paper.

_I'm not a boy, _you think. _But I'm not a girl, either. _

The dark, familiar ache settles slowly back into your chest, and you throw your arm over your face to hide your tears, wishing you didn't always end up here.


	3. 3 novaturient

**novaturient (adj.)  
desiring or seeking powerful changes in one's life, behavior, or situation**

The day before Natsu's birthday, he buys a car. It's a crappy little beater with a chipped windshield and leather seats held together with duct tape, and Natsu immediately names it Rhapsody but he won't tell you why. Instead he grins at you, patting the roof of the car and saying, "get in."

It's Halloween and you're supposed to take your sister trick-or-treating, but the way Natsu's smiling at you makes the dark things brighter, so you nod and slide into the passenger seat.

You drive with the windows rolled down and Led Zeppelin crackling through the tape deck. Natsu's already decorated the inside of the car – the console is covered with stickers that say things like _beautiful freaks _and _memento mori. _He's got plastic skulls hanging from the rear-view mirror, and a dream catcher, and an air-freshener that's shaped like Jesus that says _would you like me to take the wheel?_

"Where are we going?" you ask once you've been driving for a while. You're on a highway that's lined with dead trees; their crooked branches clawing at the sky while their last colors drift down to decay on the ground.

"Somewhere new," Natsu says without looking at you. His hair has purple streaks in it now and is cut into a messy mohawk, and he's wearing a jean vest over a sweater that's patterned with galaxies. He's confident and extraordinary, and you don't understand why he spends his time with somebody like you.

* * *

You drive all day until the sunset starts to bleed through the clouds and the sky lights on fire, then burns out beyond the horizon. Natsu flicks on the high beams and turns off the music, and you drift through the darkness for a while, letting the night take you.

Eventually Natsu pulls over and tips his head back against the seat. Shadows wrap around the car, muting everything until all you can hear is Natsu's soft breaths. The quiet is almost suffocating.

Eventually, Natsu reaches over to the glove box. His arm brushes your leg as he opens it and pulls out a small paper bag, the touch accidental and electric.

"Halloween's a stolen holiday," he says, holding the bag in both hands and staring at it intently. "It's supposed to be about change."

You nod. Your grandmother used to tell you stories of the night when the veil between worlds was thinnest, when the _aos sí _– the fae – could cross over into this world. She used to leave milk outside for them on the porch.

Natsu looks over at you. "I want to change," he says. Then he opens the door and steps out into the night.

* * *

It's so dark outside that you feel unreal – like you've been erased and the space you take up has been filled by shadows. It's comforting, almost. You hold hands with Natsu and make your way across the field near the highway, further and further into the night.

Eventually Natsu stops, pulling you down and crouching in the dead grass. He lets go of your hand and something sparks bright against the night, then his face is lit up in eerie shadows by the flicker of the match in his hand. He pulls a candle from the paper bag and lights it, then sets it on the ground between you.

Everything is quiet and still as you settle down into the grass cross-legged, watching Natsu takes other things out of the bag – a silver ring, a lace shirt folded into a square, a tube of lipstick, an earring shaped like an owl, a piece of paper with something written on it in permanent marker.

"I don't want to be this anymore," Natsu says quietly, setting everything down next to the candle and digging in the dirt with his fingers. Then he sets each item in the hole he's made and piles the loose dirt back over it.

You know it's just a trick of the light, but you swear you can see Natsu's face change in the dim flame of the candle. It flickers across his cheeks and reflects the dark of his eyes, and he looks like the person he wants to be.

You wish you could be happy for him, but you can't feel anything but a raw, stinging sense of not being quite right. When Natsu reaches out for your hand and slips his fingers between yours, you shift closer to him, and he wordlessly wraps his arm around you. You both sit for a long time in the dark, staring at the flame and the dirt and the buried pieces. It hurts because you want to let go, too. You want to leave this ache behind, burn it, suffocate it with wet earth so you can smile again.

You want to change so badly, but you don't know how, because you don't know what you want to become.


	4. 4 lacuna

_**TW for suicide/self-harm**_

* * *

**lacuna (n.)**  
**a blank space****; a missing part**

The first time you tried to kill yourself, you were thirteen. You didn't feel right – everything aching and a heavy weight on your chest like you couldn't breathe. Pills from your mom's medicine chest made you sleepy and a little bit hopeful, but then your stomach hurt so much that you threw them up.

When you woke up the next morning, alive and hurting, you weren't sure if you were relieved or disappointed.

After that, you didn't try as hard to die. You thought about it a lot, and when you felt the worst, you carved red lines into your thighs that bled just enough to make you feel something.

Now there's nothing but pink scars there, tracing a map of how you hurt – a connect-the-dots picture of a scream. You run your fingers over them, sometimes, to remind yourself that you're real.

It doesn't always work.

* * *

This time, you're not even planning to die. Not really, anyway. It's almost Christmas and you're lying with Natsu on the roof of his house, staring up at the constellations in the winter sky and picking out the ones you've made your own.

_the hurricane_

_wanderlust_

_a hidden city_

You wonder briefly what kind of constellations you could make if you drew lines between your scars, but they're not sacred enough to make something that holy.

"I feel like me," Natsu says after you've been lying there for an eternity. He's breathing quietly beside you, arm just barely brushing yours, tiny sparks jumping between your fingers that never quite make contact.

"Like you?" you repeat, closing your eyes and wishing you were underwater.

You feel Natsu nod beside you, and then he pushes himself up on his elbow and rolls toward you until he can study your face. There are constellations of freckles across his nose, and you can't stop staring at them.

"A boy," he clarifies, shaking the snow from his hair. Every time you see him, it's a little bit shorter, and he's a little bit more self-assured. "It's just… right. In here."

He takes your hand and puts it over his heart, and suddenly you're drowning. The irregular beat beneath your fingertips tugs the breath from your lungs with each flutter, leaving you with nothing but a quiet gasp and the scent of decaying leaves.

Natsu's eyes stay on yours, dark and deep, and you know that he's going to kiss you.

You push him away.

"That's good," you whisper, voice barely breaking through the muted stillness of the night. You're happy for him – at least, you think you would be if every piece of your body didn't ache. He's him, and you're not you. Everything inside you is jagged edges, fractured pieces, and none of it fits together.

You're a broken thing, and you can't let Natsu kiss you or you'll tear him apart.

"I have to go," you say quietly, and as you climb down the side of the house to escape, you think you hear the quiet whisper of _I'm sorry._

* * *

When you hit the ground, you run and you don't stop. Every time your feet slam into the concrete it shifts something inside of you, and you wish it would all just push itself into place because this isn't you and you don't know how to fix it.

When you finally stop running, you realize you're at the old train tracks. Tiny flakes of snow drift around you and melt on the sleeves of your jacket, and your breath hangs heavy in the night air. Everything is still and quiet – a simple silence to overwhelm the screaming in your head.

You tug your jacket off and toss it on the ground, then step carefully onto the train tracks, shivering in your thin t-shirt. The train hasn't run here in a long time, but you close your eyes and picture it anyway. In your mind a horn blares. The rails shake. Death thunders at you at speeds nobody can stop.

In the real world, the wind kisses your red cheeks that are suddenly wet with tears.

You rub your eyes, then stare down the dark tracks and start to walk forward, stepping carefully between the pieces of rusted metal and trying to keep breathing. All you can think about is Natsu – his smile, his laugh, the way he's bright and beautiful in a way you can't ever be.

The tracks lead you forward until they become a bridge, spanning a drop that's hundreds of feet tall. You sit down carefully on the cement support at the edge of the cliff where the bridge starts, hanging your feet over the edge and staring down into the night. Someone else was here, not long ago – it still smells like cigarette smoke, and there are shards of broken glass scattered around you.

You pick one up and study its edges, piercing the skin of your thumb and watching a tiny bead of blood form and drip down your hand. You would scream, but you're so, so tired. Every part of you wants to be brave and bold like Natsu, but you can't, so this is better than dragging him down into the darkness with you.

"I'm sorry," you whisper, closing your eyes and picturing Natsu's bright smile. He's the last thing you want to think of before you don't have to think anymore.

You exhale.

At least this way, your sister won't be afraid of the water.


	5. 5 redamancy

**redamancy (n.)**  
**the act of loving in return**

By the time they find you, it's almost too late. Natsu tells you later that they finally found your jacket buried in the snow, and that when they got you in the ambulance, they were pretty sure you wouldn't make it.

You did, though, and you're not sure how that makes you feel.

A few days after you come home from the hospital, Natsu shows up. You haven't left your room, just stay curled up in bed picking at the bandages around your wrists. Your dad took your bedroom door off and your mom hid everything sharp, and you feel small and stupid.

"Hey," Natsu says, peeking into the room. He's wearing a baggy sweater over a ripped pair of skinny jeans, and it takes you a second to realize that the sweater is yours.

Something warm and bright sparks in your chest and you try to say something, but your voice is trapped. Instead, you shuffle over to make room for him. Natsu sits down carefully on the edge of the bed, and the space between you feels like a void.

"I'm sorry," he says, so soft you can barely hear him. The words hurt worse than the stitches in your wrists, and you shake your head.

"Why are you sorry?" Your voice is rough, but you manage it.

Natsu rubs the fabric of the hoodie sleeves between his fingers and chews his lip. Then he looks up at you and whispers, "for trying to kiss you. I'm sorry."

Your heart takes a second to process the information before cracking right down the center.

Natsu thinks it's his fault.

"No," you say, reaching out and grabbing his hand. He looks up at you with wide, sad eyes – dark and serious. You could fall into them and live there forever, never able to escape, never wanting to.

You realize, suddenly, that you're in love with him.

Then you realize that you've said it out loud.

Natsu stares at you, hand trembling in yours, with bitten nails and freckled cheeks. He's everything good in your life, everything that makes you feel worthwhile and alive.

And he thinks it's his fault that you wanted to die.

"No," you whisper again, tugging on his hand until he's lying across from you, arm under his head, knees touching. You don't realize you're crying until he reaches out to brush the tears away. His touch feels like sunshine, bold and bright and lighting up the dark places of you that you're afraid of.

"Then why?" he asks. Your mom and dad and sister all asked you the same thing, but you couldn't answer them, couldn't explain that in that moment, all that existed were train tracks and broken glass and the angry way you hated yourself.

"I'm not like you," you say, and that's not right either, but it's closer to the truth than you've ever been with anyone else.

"Why would you want to be like me?" Natsu murmurs, brushing your hair out of your face. You haven't showered since you got home and you're suddenly aware of how disheveled you must look.

You swallow and slip your fingers between Natsu's. He's warm and perfect and so, so alive. "Because you're brave," you say, looking down at your hands. "And you know who you are."

"And you don't?" Natsu asks. The question is gentle, not an accusation, not a demand for answers that you can't give. You shake your head, sniffing when Natsu wipes away the tears again.

"I want to," you say around the tears that won't stop. "But it's… I don't know h-how, and it hurts." You've never said any of this out loud before. Natsu's thumb draws a pattern across the back of your hand.

"I know," Natsu says, shifting closer to you. Your whole body is shaking like it's going to shatter, but Natsu pulls you close and kisses your forehead. He holds you together – his light filling the dark cracks that hurt and hurt.

"I'm sorry," you say, and its more of a sob choked into his chest than words. "I didn't—I'm sorry."

"It's okay," he says, fingers running up and down your back, then down your arms and over the bandages on your wrists. "I know. I don't always know who I am either." He brings your hands up to his lips and kisses your fingers. "But I'm my best me when I'm with you. You help me be brave."

"I don't feel brave," you whisper, pressing yourself closer to him. You're lost and confused and aching. "I'm not a boy. But I'm not a girl, either."

"That's okay," Natsu says, and his hands are everywhere, tracing lines of gold to mend the cracks you've been trying so hard to avoid. "You can just be you."

"What does that mean?"

"There's so many pieces to you," Natsu says softly, "and none of them are about being a boy or a girl." He runs his fingers through your hair again. "You love sunsets. When you read, you get this little frown between your eyebrows and you mouth all the words. You like lattes but pretend to love black coffee. You're scared of spiders. You've got a scar on your forehead that I've always wanted to kiss."

He keeps going, giving you all these words that aren't 'he' or 'she.' They're just who you are, tiny broken pieces that start to slide themselves back together.

"You're cautious and careful and you've never let me down," Natsu murmurs. "You like to cuddle when you're high, even if you won't admit it the next day." You let out a wet sort of laugh at that because what you're doing right now is definitely cuddling. "You see me," Natsu says, and you feel the tears in his voice when he presses his forehead to yours. "And you let me see you."

And then everything falls into place, and you realize that you could love the self that Natsu sees.

It hits you hard and you can't breathe, but Natsu's there, touching and whispering soft words that make you feel like you might be okay. He holds you for a long, long time, until the sun starts to set and gentle orange rays spill through your bedroom. You're almost asleep when you hear him whisper.

"Gray?"

You mumble a quiet _yeah? _

"I love you, too."


	6. 6 metanoia

_TW for description of scars from suicide attempt_

* * *

**metanoia (n.)**  
**the journey of changing one's mind, heart, self, or way of life**

Natsu doesn't try to kiss you again.

At first, you're pretty sure it's because you're still recovering. It's a slow process, but after the first visit from him, you manage to shower. The next day you eat something, even though your stomach hurts and you'd rather go back to sleep and not wake up.

A week after that you sit with your family on the couch. You still can't talk to them, but your mom hugs you and kisses your head and your dad puts his hand on your knee, which is his equivalent of _I love you. _Your sister is too little to understand what's going on, but she sits in your lap and wraps her arms around your neck. Then she kisses your cheek and gives you her favorite toy that makes her feel better when she's sick.

You sleep with it every night.

Natsu visits almost every day. You curl up on the couch together and watch stupid movies when you can't talk, and he listens when you can.

"I want to be better," you say to him one day. "But not always."

"That's okay," Natsu says, taking both your hands in his and squeezing them. Despite not kissing, you cuddle a lot, and it makes you feel less broken. Natsu's touches are soft and purposeful, and they remind you that you're alive.

Sometimes, when you start to feel sharp and jagged again, Natsu tells you stories to take you away from the pain. You lay on your bed with your head on his chest, and he fills your room with magic and fairies and dragon princes. You love the sound of his voice – the way it rumbles in his chest under your head, his very soft accent, the shapes the words make in the air.

You start writing the stories down when he leaves, and soon you have a notebook full of his words. They're little pieces of him, you realize, and when you read them, you think that you could write your own words, too.

You start making your own story.

* * *

A month after you tell Natsu you love him, your parents bring you to a psychiatrist. You're sure you'll hate it, but Doctor Baron, who insists you call her Chelsea, is surprisingly normal. There are plants on her desk and a few Lego models on shelves on the wall, and when she says words like _depression _and _dysphoria _and _suicide, _it doesn't make you flinch. You tell her you're not a boy and she nods like she already knows.

One day you bring your new journal and show it to her, and she smiles like you've given her a precious gift. You don't let her read it because some of the words are scary and sad, but you show her a few pages where you've sketched things or glued in little bits of your life. There are ticket stubs from movies you've seen with Natsu; a piece of wrapping paper from your sister's Christmas gift to you; a note from your mom that she left on your door last week that says _you grow though what you go through. _

"How do you feel about taking medication?" Chelsea asks you after the third time you see her. You frown, contemplating the question as you stare out the window behind her. The days are getting warmer, and melted snow drips down the brick wall, leaving behind patterns like the ones you find in clouds on sunny days with Natsu.

"Will it help?" you ask.

"With some things, maybe," she says, jotting something down on a piece of paper and sliding it across the desk. "Other things are up to you."

"Okay," you say, looking down at your arms, at the lines that cross both your wrists. There's two on each, parallel like the train tracks you'd sat on. You hate that they'll be there forever. "I want to try."

* * *

One day, just after the snow has started melting, Natsu brings you flowers – little purple blossoms with soft, pale centers. You think they're for your mom, at first, but he shakes his head and holds them out to you.

"They're crocuses," he says as you run your fingers over the petals. "They're your favorite color."

Natsu sits down next to you on the porch swing, kicking his feet out and staring at the scuffed toes of his combat boots. He's still wearing your sweater.

You want to say thank you, but you're pretty sure Natsu already knows. Instead, you hold out your hand to him. You've been holding hands a lot, lately, and it makes you feel safe and connected.

Instead of sliding your fingers together, Natsu takes your hand, rubbing his thumb over your palm. Then he slowly traces a line up to the thick, angry red scars across your wrist and brushes his fingers over them.

You hold perfectly still, hovering on the edge of a breath while he touches your pain with gentle hands. It's like he's discovering something new and beautiful.

"Did it hurt?" he asks.

"Less than everything else," you say softly. Natsu nods like he understands, then shifts closer so he can rest his head on your shoulder.

"Does it still hurt?"

You think about the question for a long them, then slowly shake your head and whisper, "not when I'm with you."


	7. 7 cicatrize

**cicatrize (v.)  
to find healing by the process of forming scars**

Natsu shows up at your house on the first day of summer with a mix tape and a duffel bag.

"C'mon," he says, taking your hand and pulling you toward the car. "We're going on an adventure."

Your parents have been cautious since the winter, but your mom adores Natsu and trusts him to keep you safe, so she lets you climb in the passenger seat of Rhapsody and head off into the mountains.

The drive is bright, and the sky is blue, and Natsu rolls down the window while he sings along to some pop music you don't recognize. You tap your feet to the rhythm and when Natsu sees, he gives you a smile that makes your heart skip.

You wind through mountains and past fields, twisting further and further into places you've never been until you're lost and full of wonder. You press your face against the window and stare down into the valleys of trees, across lakes the reflect the sun, up to mountain tops that are dotted with snow as they pierce the sky.

"You okay?" Natsu asks after a while. You look back over at him.

"Yeah," you say, and you mean it.

The corner of Natsu's lip quirks up and he glances over at you quickly with bright eyes before turning back to the winding road. "Are the meds helping?" he asks.

"I think so," you say, thinking of the bottle of pills rattling in the bottom of your backpack. "They make it brighter."

Natsu doesn't say anything else, just reaches out and grabs your hand, squeezing it tightly as you head deeper into the places the world made before humans were alive.

* * *

Eventually you pull over for lunch on the side of the highway, sitting on the back of the car while you eat. Natsu made peanut-butter-and-jam sandwiches and they taste like being six and playing in the park.

You like food, now. It doesn't hurt to eat.

"You hear that?" Natsu asks when you're done, and you follow his gaze into the woods on the side of the road. You hear water, thundering down from the mountaintop, cutting through the earth and filling the forest with sound. Natsu turns to you and grins, jumping up and grabbing your hand.

You head into the forest, ducking under mossy branches and over roots that twist and break the ground, catching each other when you lose your balance. Sunlight filters through the trees, gentle and golden, and casts dappled shadows over both of you as you make your way further into the forest.

"We're close!" Natsu says, tugging on your hand as the sound of pounding water gets louder and louder. He's practically vibrating with excitement and it's contagious, tugging you lips into a smile.

When you finally reach the waterfall, you can't do anything but stare. It's powerful and ancient, tearing its way through the rocks and crashing down into the basin at its base. Light spills and reflects off the surface of the water, and it calls to you, pulling you toward this primal, stunning force of nature.

You follow Natsu into the pool, rolling up your pants and shivering as the chill pricks at your skin. "It's freezing!" you shout, hunching your shoulders against the cold spray of the water. Natsu just laughs, tipping his head back and closing his eyes as the mist plasters his hair to his head. He's so bright and alive, and you feel like crying, but not because you're sad.

Before you can change your mind, you grab your shirt and tug it off over your head. Natsu looks at you with wide eyes, then grins, wading through the shallow water to tuck your clothes up onto a rocky ledge. You hold each other's arms as you kick off your pants and underwear, and then you're both naked, shivering as the breeze throws droplets of icy water your way.

Natsu moves to cross his arms over his chest but you shake your head, reaching out for his other hand and gripping it tightly. For the first time since you met him, he looks shy, cheeks pink as he stares down into the water instead of into your eyes.

He's gorgeous, and you want to tell him, but instead you pull him toward you as you back toward the waterfall, feeling your way over the rocks as the pounding water gets louder and louder. When you finally duck under the spray, it knocks your breath from you, slamming down onto your shoulders and plastering your hair to the back of your head.

You burst out laughing, tipping your head and letting the water run over your face. The rock is smooth against your back, holding you up as the water pounds down around you, terrifying and exhilarating. You feel weightless, like your body doesn't matter. You're a million tiny pieces, every little thing that makes up you, and the mountains, and the water that's washing away the things that hurt.

When you finally step out of the water, Natsu is staring at you with a strange expression. You shake out your hair, sputtering and wiping water from your face, and he reaches out to grab your hand.

"I've never heard you laugh before," he says softly, eyes searching your face. You stare at his freckles, at the scar on his chin, at the soft hairs that curl around the back of his neck.

It finally hits you that he's waiting for _you _to kiss _him. _

You take a step closer and his eyes widen – bright and green and full of life. When your fingers touch his cheek he exhales, hand coming up to cover yours, and then he turns his head and kisses the scar on your wrist.

Tiny sparks of light race from your palms to your chest, tingling and bursting under your skin, and you slide your fingers into his hair. He trembles against you and you pull him closer, then tip his head up and kiss him.

It's more right than anything you've felt in your life. He's warm under your fingertips, alive and brilliant and so in love with you that you can feel it in the way his hands pull you close. You're both surging, reckless beings, wild and dizzy with freedom and the summer sun.

When you finally break apart to breathe, his smile is radiant, and he runs his thumb over your cheek before nudging you back toward the water. You grin, pulling him close until you're both under the fall, gasping for breath and laughing as you hold each other close. All you can hear is the dull roar of the water as it pounds down around you, and you pull him in for another kiss.

"I love you," he whispers as you press together, fingers in your hair and on your hip. You can't stop touching him. He shivers as your hands roam across his shoulders, slip down his arms, brush across his collarbone, pull him close by the small of his back. Your heart pounds when he pushes you back against the wall, pressing his thigh between your legs and kissing you like you're the only thing in the world.

There's nothing in the world right now except the way you fit together, and all the pieces of you that he loves.

"I love you, too," you say against his lips, and they're the truest words you've ever said.

* * *

The first time you met him, you were at the lake, and he wasn't himself yet. You were broken and he was trapped, and everything had to shatter before it could be new.

But the first time you kiss him, you're in the place where the world was made, and he's himself, and you're becoming.


End file.
